


Shore Leave

by bionic



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-15
Updated: 2010-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bionic/pseuds/bionic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim gets drugged, and the truth comes out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shore Leave

Shore leave, Jim thought, shouldn’t be stressful. It shouldn’t be an excuse for his crew, his senior officers, to abandon him to the natives so they could pursue their own relaxation techniques while Jim was left to struggle under the weight of command and the indiscriminate bludgeoning of a whiskey-like concoction from the bar as it pounded through his head, trying to keep his eyes focused, all the while hoping to stay out of trouble like Bones had vehemently instructed upon threat of a non-lethal but still painful injection.

What did it matter that Chekov was off with an olive-skinned native woman, twice his age but still apparently interested, doing god knows what, and Sulu was off gallivanting with Scotty and Bones who were probably more inebriated than Jim was right then. What did it matter that Uhura was with Spock, or that Spock was with Uhura, checked into a local recreational center that only couples seemed allowed to patron.

It didn’t. It didn’t matter. Jim was captain of a starship and he had flown countless diplomatic missions, even saved whole planets on a few occasions. He had a beautiful ship and one of the best crews, always handy in a tight spot.

None of that mattered now. Everyone had paired off in two’s and three’s and it was almost comical how they seemed to be avoiding the captain. Jim didn’t understand it, he laughed at the notion of rank and chain of command and all that bull – he had always tried to be their friend.

Jim groaned at the pointlessness of it all. To be so alone in a room full of people.

The barkeep eyed him curiously, not for the first time that night. Jim had a feeling he wanted to offer a sympathetic ear but wasn’t sure how to approach him. Out of his uniform and in black pants with a weathered academy tee, Jim thought he looked pretty damn approachable and unassuming. Which was why he didn’t understand how no one could see his complete and utter despair, a vulnerability that the ladies usually flocked to.

“Here,” the barkeep with green sloping eyes and a shock of white, punk-rock hair slid over a small shot of something pink and viscous. “Works wonders for the love-stricken.”

Jim raised both eyebrows and settled his chin in his hand, peering at the drink. “Really. And what happens if I drink that?”

“Has a very potent aphrodisiac,” the bartender replied, shrugging his sharp shoulders. “On the house. You look like you could use it.”

What the hell, why not. It wasn’t like anyone was going to come rescue dear old captain anytime soon. Why shouldn’t he have a good time too?

Jim took a breath, anticipating the burn of foreign alcohols, and downed the pink shot in one swallow. It tingled all the way down and left a cinnamon aftertaste. He rolled his tongue around the roof of his mouth, behind his teeth, catching the taste. It wasn’t too bad.

“Thanks,” he said, and smiled, hoping the aphrodisiac would kick in before he got bored enough to go looking for a fight with some hotheaded civilians.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Jim opened his eyes. Somehow, he had made it back to the ship and had slept in his own quarters. He had acted as an upstanding captain should and he didn’t have a hangover. The fact that he couldn’t remember how he got back wasn’t as troubling as it should have been, considering all the horrible ways he could have faced the morning.

Slipping on a fresh uniform and stepping out, he walked towards the familiar, welcome hum of the bridge, and the faces of his friends stung faintly as a reminder of how much he hated shore leave lately, how their tight-knit unit was dispersed and how it hadn’t helped Jim’s piece of mind one bit.

But everything was business as usual. Jim greeted everyone in turn, and the glow Uhura was sporting didn’t slip past his attention. They were preparing for departure, waiting for a few stragglers to stagger on home, and Jim found he had nothing immediate to attend to that hadn’t already been taken care of, so he happily booked it over to the mess for a quiet breakfast.

He hadn’t seen him on the bridge in his usual spot, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise to see Spock looking up from the mug on the table in front of him when Jim walked in. Spock inclined his head in a nod, which was as good as waving him down. Jim took a seat across the table.

“Get some R&amp;R?”

“It was a truly restful and relaxing visit. The accommodations on this planet are very – agreeable.”

Jim managed to keep his somewhat forced smile polite. “So you had a good time.”

“And what about yourself, Captain?”

Jim shrugged, intending to open his mouth and talk about the many female wonders of Mavshar Prime, but instead said, “Actually, I’m not pleased you enjoyed yourself at all because I sure as hell didn’t.” And promptly slapped a hand over his mouth, staring in wide-eyed shock at his first officer, because _what the hell_?

“Captain?” Spock was raising one elegant eyebrow, his face as impassive as ever.

Jim hesitated to speak again. Apparently his brain hadn’t completely woken up yet with the rest of his body. “Spock, do I seem any different to you?”

Spock looked at him blankly. “No.”

Jim stalled. “I’m sorry, look,” and then began laughing at his truly atrocious manners. “I must’ve woken up more cranky than I realized. Look, forget I said that. I’m hap – ” he frowned, waiting for the word to come out of his mouth, “I’m gla –” and he stopped again, wondering why he couldn’t – physically – complete the sentence.

He tried again, slowly. “You had a good time, and that’s – what you deserve.” Jim shook his head and released a controlled breath, aware of Spock’s increasing concern.

Spock leaned a scant few inches across the table and lowered his voice. “Are you all right, Jim?”

Normally, he would brush if off and laugh good naturedly at his own bumbling, but – but – “No I think – no. I mean,” Jim leaned his head in his hands and tried very hard to be still, to listen for any strange noises or pinpoint feelings of light-headedness, but nothing, there was nothing.

“I’m not okay, no.” And that was a first. He’d always tried to show his strongest side to his shipmates, conceding to only a few instances of weakness, not for his own sake, but for the morale of the crew, to know that they were putting their lives and their faith in an able leader, who half the time refused to do things by the book.

Apparently, now was not one of those times of strength. The thing was, Jim wasn’t entirely sure what was wrong with him. Besides his brain taking a vacation, and his mouth running on autopilot.

Spock leaned back and took a silent sip from his mug. “Did you obtain any new acquaintances the previous night or participate in any – odd – pastimes?”

Jim could only stare at him helplessly. He didn’t think his embarrassment could get any worse.

“Well,” Jim cleared his throat hastily. “I went down to this bar, and I had a few drinks.”

“Alone?” Spock asked.

Jim nodded. “I might’ve drank too much, but no one came near me…” He remembered how utterly dejected and depressed last night had been, and wasn’t that just pathetic?

“Do you remember returning to the ship?”

Jim silently cursed Spock’s uncanny ability to always ask the embarrassing questions.

“No, I don’t. It must’ve been something I ate, or touched.” The frustrating thing was, Jim didn’t know how precisely he was different, but he knew he _was_ different, certain now that something had happened.

“If you suspect it was something you ingested, perhaps it would be wise to ask Dr. McCoy to run a few tests.”

Jim’s mind turned with possibilities, “Yes, exactly.” He reached out and gave Spock’s hand a quick pat, but he had the sudden sneaking suspicion that everything had been all right until the pink drink with the so-called aphrodisiac. “Thanks Spock, you’re always right with that big, beautiful brain of yours.”

And thankfully, he was up and out of the mess hall before the mortification of what he said could start to settle in. When he made it to med-bay, he was sure this was one of the many occasions where he’d never been so glad to see Bones in his entire life.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Jim spent a torturous half-hour being prodded and poked, and then he informed the bridge that Spock would be overseeing their final departure when he realized he couldn’t be in a room with people until he knew what the hell was wrong with him. It took another hour for Bones to run the necessary tests on some of Jim’s blood and other bodily fluids, during which time Jim hid out in a sectioned off bed in the sick-bay. He felt physically fine, but he couldn’t shake the sensation of having lost control, like taking a space-dive headfirst onto that damned drilling platform at speeds that would splatter him like a bug on a windshield.

Outwardly, though, he seemed okay. Bones grumbled about their captain’s supposed psychotic break – finally – and other space dementia related jargon that Jim rolled his eyes at, but when the results came back, Bones had to eat his words because Jim was right.

There was a foreign chemical in his bloodstream, and, here was the fun part:

“It has similar properties to sodium thiopental,” Bones said as if it was supposed to mean something to him. He sighed, folded his arms across his chest, and glared at Jim.

“As in, truth serum.”

“Hell,” Jim said and held up his hands defensively. “It wasn’t _my_ fault I was drugged.”

Bones advanced on the medical bed and glared even harder, if that were possible. “Do you know how dangerous this is? How many Starfleet secrets someone could’ve obtained from you?”

Jim swore he would’ve known had someone been trying to interrogate him the night before.

“You know how much of a damn security risk you are, right now?”

“Now I do,” Jim couldn’t help the smile twitching his lips.

Bones grumbled something under his breath, but the agitation seemed to pass. “It could have been something a lot worse. Let’s just be thankful it wasn’t life-threatening.”

“Like those exploding tumor organisms.”

Bones shuddered. That had been a true and hellish nightmare. “Yes, well. There’s nothing I can do. It should pass through your system within a day or two. Just don’t do anything stupid until then.”

“Yep, but I can’t promise anything,” Jim replied and gave his most brilliant smile. He hopped down from the bed and began preparing a mental list of people he should avoid talking to in the meantime.

His first officer would no doubt want to inquire about his condition, especially after Jim gave the order for Spock to retain command of the bridge until further notice. The problem was, Spock was definitely someone to avoid.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
He had to return to the bridge eventually when the Admiral called in and no one had a valid reason why the captain wasn’t present. Jim walked in just in time to save the deck from a sharp reprimand and proved that no, he was not incapacitated in any way, or too inebriated, or at all compromised after their brief shore leave.

“Are you well, Captain?” Spock deftly appeared too close to Jim’s side just as the transmission terminated.

Jim cast a brief look around as everyone returned to work diligently at stations. “Uh, yes, pretty much.”

“Was Dr. McCoy able to uncover any abnormalities in your lab tests?”

Jim wanted to say no and assure him that everything was normal. He practiced it in his head. But he couldn’t lie, so it was near involuntary the way his mouth opened and he responded with, “I was drugged.”

Spock tilted his head in understanding and did something he rarely ever did, which was to touch Jim. With a loose grip on Jim’s elbow, he guided them to the turbolift.

They stood in silence as it took them to the officer’s quarters, Jim cursing himself the whole way while Spock seemed perfectly unaffected by the information.

When the lift doors slid open, Jim expected to head to his room for a chat, but instead Spock tilted his head in the direction of his own quarters and, well, Jim wasn’t about to turn down the very rare chance to be allowed as a guest inside a space few people got to see.

It wasn’t unremarkable; the trappings of Vulcan heritage were present in the painting by the bed and a gold-crimson vase in the corner. Elements of Spock’s personality and tastes, however, ended there. The remainder of the room was what came standard in an officer’s suite, with minimal but comfortably efficient furniture, including a perfectly pristine bed. Jim was reminded of his own un-made bed and the heap of dirty shirts tossed over the back of his chair, and he couldn’t help but make a mental note to tidy up.

“I must confess,” Spock began, as he gestured for Jim to take a seat on the bed, which Jim obeyed with only a second of hesitation, curious. “I had already asked Dr. McCoy about your condition before you arrived on the bridge, but I could not help wanting to seek confirmation from a direct response.”

Jim chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah, truth serum. If you have any burning questions you want answers to, now would be the time to ask.”

Spock inclined his head and came to stand by the bed, hands clasped behind his back. “I do not believe you would lie to me, Captain, unless it were for my own good.”

Jim glanced up at him and caught the slight tilt to Spock’s lips, reading amusement and slight affection in the expression that – to the best of Jim’s knowledge – was usually reserved for Uhura’s company.

“But it has come to my attention,” Spock went on briskly, “that you have not been completely honest about your intentions towards myself and Lieutenant Uhura.”

Jim was taken completely off-guard by the statement. His mouth opened reflexively to deny but after a moment he thought better of it, because who knew what would come out of his mouth. It would probably be embarrassing, and even more incriminating, because Spock was right, as usual, and Jim hadn’t exactly been ecstatic to see the two together all the time, even though it was wrong of him to be jealous. Wrong, stupid, and childish, and Jim knew these things – but he couldn’t help feeling the way he did.

He looked for Spock, and not just on the bridge, by his side. Sometimes he felt like he was looking for him all the time, everywhere, like he needed all of him, and that was really not something that Jim should go around confessing.

He had never been good at sharing.

When Jim gave no response, Spock continued in the same brisk tone. “Jim, you do not have to reveal your secrets to me. I do, however, require that you be honest with me about this one thing. Uhura first brought it to my attention, and she grows more concerned every day. It is – affecting – our relationship.”

Jim raised his eyebrows in benign innocence. “What is she concerned about?”

“Your affections for me.” Spock replied like he was discussing the weather, matter-of-fact and without the slightest inflection in tone about what he thought of it, one way or the other.

Jim almost choked on his tongue in his surprise. “You – ” _know about that_? He wanted to say, but he clamped his mouth shut before he could.

Spock retreated a few steps, giving Jim space to freak out. “I only wish you to know that I am aware of your feelings, and that I am humbly honored. However, as your First Officer, I do not think it is wise to pursue anything further than friendship between us.”

Jim could only nod. He could feel his jaw slowly tightening, millimeter by millimeter, as he stared down at the floor, unable to meet Spock’s gaze.

“All of that aside, I also would like you to know that if circumstances had been, or if they should ever be, different…” Spock’s careful words trailed off into uncertainty, which had Jim wavering on the edge of stupid hope for a split second or two, until the silence continued to lengthen and Spock failed to complete the thought.

Jim sat and breathed and held his tongue. After a few moments, he heard the pneumonic doors glide open, the hiss uncharacteristically loud in the quiet that had set in, and Spock’s soft, measured steps walking out, before the doors slid shut again.

Jim was finally able to look up, and realized the dull throbbing in his mouth was from biting his tongue bloody.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
So maybe this thing with Spock was more serious than Jim realized. It wasn’t some passing infatuation, or Uhura-envy, or mere petty jealousy that those two had each other and Jim didn’t have anything close to resembling a normal, intimate relationship.

After Spock’s confrontation in his quarters, Jim beat a hasty retreat back to his own room and locked himself in. He still couldn’t trust himself to be in a room full of people, and he certainly wasn’t thinking clearly enough to be in the same room as Spock and Uhura.

He could only pace the same five feet for so long before he gave up and went to find Bones in the med-bay, but Bones would only tolerate Jim skulking around for an hour before he kicked him out, forgoing all pity talks or threats. Instead he gave Jim a dark look, _straighten this out, whatever you’ve got yourself into_, and muttered, “Another day and it’ll be over.”

Jim couldn’t wait for this truth serum stuff to leave his system. Spock really picked a hell of a time, but maybe that was a deliberate move on his part.

Maybe Spock had hoped Jim would speak truthfully with him about his feelings, clear the air, and get rid of any remote chance of misunderstanding that Jim’s affections would ever be returned.

Jim really did not want to think about _feelings_. He hated even more talking about them. Which was why he had to avoid Spock, or risk the no-doubt embarrassing debacle that would occur if Jim opened his mouth.

He had been almost successful in his avoidance, until Spock called for his presence on the bridge over the ship wide comms. Jim cursed, and debated whether or not he should go. Of course he would, since he was still Captain, and he did still have responsibilities, regardless of his own personal hang-ups.

Jim steeled his resolve and went.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
It was early the next day when Jim found himself back again in front of Spock’s quarters. He had no idea if Spock had spent the night elsewhere after the shift change.

He knocked when he saw the door was locked, and he was half-surprised, half-relieved, to find Spock on the other side when the door opened.

“Captain.” Spock simply stepped back and indicated for Jim to come in. Everything looked just as it had before. The bed had been remade, the rumpled area where Jim had sat now smooth again.

Jim decided to start before he could change his mind. “I just wanted to say thank you for speaking to me earlier. I appreciate your honesty.”

Spock kept a formal distance between them. “As I appreciate yours.”

“Yeah, about that,” Jim hesitated and sighed. “I just seem to – need you. Your presence. Your – ” Jim tried to think of something that wouldn’t make him sound completely desperate. “Your friendship.”

“You have it.” Spock replied easily, but Jim could feel his own frustration building, his skin growing tight with nervousness.

“No, that’s not really what I mean.” Jim groaned when Spock still didn’t seem to understand how deep in crap Jim really was.

“Even though you already said it’s never going to happen, I still want to be more to you. I know I can be.” Jim finished, held his breath and waited.

Spock wouldn’t meet Jim’s eyes for once, instead staring at a point between them, head tilted downward. His hands were still resting loosely at his sides but Jim was watching for them to ball into fists, getting ready to duck, to shout.

When Spock finally answered, his voice was soft and smooth. Even so, Jim could sense the restraint behind it, like there was a bevy of regrets just hiding beneath the surface of the coolness.

“If we had met under different circumstance, or if we had met before…” _Uhura_, Kirk’s mind supplied.

Jim shook himself a little, twitching his shoulder and closing his eyes, a prickle of heat pressing behind them. He moved across the short distance to Spock’s pristine bed and sat down heavily, holding his head in his hands.

He hated this part. Facing the truth, tearing down all of his walls. Conceding defeat.

Then Jim blinked open and found Spock’s concerned face, a face that was also open and rapt. Jim realized what he said next would be extremely important, too important for him to fuck up, just because he was stupid enough to want something he couldn’t have.

“It’s okay,” Jim said and the twist in his gut was sharp and painful, a phantom pain that was just his heart, he knew, beating too hard and deep, filling with resignation. “I know. I just had to say it, tell you myself.”

Spock’s expression slowly schooled itself back into mild distress instead of the open vulnerability, though the crease at his brow hung around. His lips were still open, dry, suddenly, Jim noticed, and never had he wanted to kiss Spock, not until this moment, to kiss the troubled look right off his face.

“If I ever see that bartender again…” Jim tried to lighten the mood. “None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t gone down there.”

“Perhaps he concluded you would be in higher spirits if you confided in someone about your secrets. They can become burdensome, over time.” Spock said as if from far away. Jim could tell Spock was still thinking, lost in what Jim had told him, all the implications of what could happen, because Jim was thinking those exact same thoughts. He was beating his heart into a bloody mess but it didn’t matter, it was done, they both knew how deep this ran, and now there was nothing to do but live with it or move on.

“Yeah, well, now you know my deepest and darkest.” Jim said.

Spock regarded him silently, his eyes trained on Jim’s face. Finally, he took the few remaining steps to the bedside and sat down beside him.

“You would have confided in me, eventually. I do not regret what has happened. If nothing else, our friendship has certainly grown stronger.” His voice was low like he had been the one confessing.

Jim was hit with a sudden shyness, and he smiled sadly, turning his head to look at Spock’s unhappy expression. He reached up to pat Spock on the back, which made Spock’s mouth tilt into a slight smile, the kind that Jim rarely got to see and was just the thing he’d been waiting for. It smoothed out Spock’s features and brightened his eyes. It was a look Jim wanted to remember.

His hand on Spock’s warm back, Spock’s body temperature running a few degrees hotter than what was normal for humans, Jim spread his fingers out, rested his palm there, couldn’t help scratching just the tiniest bit with his nails. Spock made a soft sound of surprise, his brows dipping slightly in a furrow that Jim found too endearing.

He thought _what the hell_ and leaned in quickly, pressing a firm but innocent kiss to Spock’s slightly parted lips. Spock made a different noise of surprise then, his back straightening to attention. Jim gave one hard rub down the center of his spine, then hopped up and clapped his hands together, his lips tingling. He knew he had to be professional about this because he couldn’t afford to let it mess with their duties.

So he put on his game face.

Even though he was determined to make things right again, to shake it off, the ache was still there. Jim had suspicions that it’d be there for a while, take up permanent residence in his chest whenever he saw Spock.

“Great! Now that we’ve re-fortified our friendship and all that,” Jim turned and walked toward the door before spinning on his heel to give Spock a wide, shaky grin, “we’ve got a ship to run.”

Jim walked out with Spock’s stunned expression in his mind, so much material to tease him with later, and waited a beat before he turned the corner down the hallway, hearing Spock’s quick and efficient footsteps trailing behind him, unfaltering.

  
the end.


End file.
